Authors: Unknown
And something else had been added, something not easy to define, a
curious radiance of personality. There was a new strength in Marcellus, a
contagious energy that vitalized the house. It was in his voice, in his eyes,
in his hands. His family did not at first ask him what this new thing was, nor
did they let him know that it was noticeable; neither did they discuss it
immediately with one another. But Marcellus had acquired something that gave
him distinction.
The Senator had been working late in his library. He had finished his
task, had put away his writing materials, and had risen from his desk-chair,
when he heard confident footsteps.
Leaving Demetrius in the driveway to await the arrival of their luggage,
Marcellus--joyfully recognized by the two old slaves on guard at the front
door--had walked swiftly through to the spacious atrium. His father's door was
partly open. Bursting in on him unceremoniously, he threw his arms around him
and hugged him breathless. Although the Senator was tall and remarkably virile
for his years, the Tribune's overwhelming vitality completely engulfed him.
'My son! My son!' Gallio quavered, fervently. 'You are well again!
Strong again! Alive again! The gods be praised!'
Marcellus pressed his cheek against his father's and patted him on the
back.
'Yes, sir!' he exclaimed. 'More alive than ever! And you, sir, grow more
handsome every day! How proud I am to be your son!'
Lucia, in her room, suddenly stirred in her sleep, sat up wide-awake,
listened, tossed aside the silk covers, listened again with an open mouth and a
pounding heart.
'Oh!' she called. 'Tertia! My robe! Tertia! Wake up! Hurry! My sandals!
Marcellus is here!' Racing down to the library, she threw herself into her
brother's arms, and when he had lifted her off her feet and kissed her, she
cried, 'Dear Marcellus--you are well!'
'And you, my sweet, are beautiful! You have grown up, haven't you?' He
lightly touched her high coronet of glossy black hair with caressing fingers.
'Lovely!'
The Senator put his arms around both of them, to their happy surprise,
for it was not his custom to be demonstrative with his affection.
'Come,' he said gently. 'Let us go to your mother.'
'It is very late,' said Marcellus. 'Should we waken her?'
'Of course!' insisted Lucia.
They crowded through the doorway, arm in arm. In the dimly lit atrium, a
little group of the older servants had assembled, tousled and sleepy, their
anxious eyes wondering what to expect of the son and heir who, on his last
visit home, had been in such a distressing state of mind.
'Ho! Marcipor!' shouted Marcellus, grasping the outstretched hand. 'Hi!
Decimus!' It wasn't often that the stiff and taciturn butler unbent, but he
beamed with smiles as he thrust out his hand. 'How are you, Tertia!' called
Marcellus to the tall, graceful girl descending the stairs. They all drew in
closer. Old Servius was patted on the shoulder, and the wrinkled, toothless
mouth chopped tremulously while the tears ran unchecked.
'Welcome! Welcome!' the old man shrilled. 'The gods bless you, sir!'
'Ah, Lentius!' hailed Marcellus. 'How are my horses?' And when Lentius
had made bold to reply that Ishtar had a filly, three months old--which made
them all laugh merrily as if this were a good joke on somebody--Marcellus sent
them into another gale of laughter by demanding, 'Bring in the colt, Lentius! I
must see her at once!'
There were more than a score of slaves gathered in the atrium now, all
of them full of happy excitement. There had never been such an utter collapse
of discipline in the Gallio household. Long-time servants, accustomed to moving
about soberly and on tiptoe, heard themselves laughing hilariously--laughing
here in the atrium! laughing in the presence of the Senator! And the Senator
was smiling too!
Marcellus was brightening their eyes with his ready recognition, calling
most of them by name. A pair of pretty Macedonian twins arrived, hand in hand,
dressed exactly alike; practically indistinguishable. He remembered having had
a glimpse of them, two years ago, but had forgotten their names. He looked
their way, and so did everyone else, to their considerable embarrassment.
'Are you girls sisters?' he inquired.
This was by far the merriest thing that anyone had said, and the atrium
resounded with full-throated appreciation.
'Decimus!' shouted the Senator, and the laughter ceased. 'You will serve
supper! In an hour! In the banquet-room! With the gold service! Marcipor! let
all the lamps be lighted! Throughout the villa! And the gardens!'
Marcellus brushed through the scattering crowd and bounded up the
stairs. Cornelia met him in the corridor, outside her door, and he gathered her
hungrily into his arms. They had no adequate words for each other; just stood
there, clinging together, Cornelia smoothing his close-cropped hair with her
soft palm and sobbing like a child, while the Senator, with misty eyes, waited
a little way apart, fumbling with the silk tassels on his broad sash.
Her intuition suggesting that Marcellus and their emotional mother might
need a quiet moment alone together, Lucia had tarried at the foot of the
staircase for a word with Decimus about the supper. All the other servants had
scurried away to their duties, their very sandal-straps confiding in excited
whispers that this was a happy night and that it was good to be there.
'Not too much food, Decimus,' Lucia was saying. 'Some fresh fruit and
cold meats and wine--and a nut-cake if there is one. But don't cook anything.
It is late, and the Senator will be tired and sleepy before you have time to
prepare an elaborate dinner. Serve it in the big dining-room, as he said, and
use the gold plate. And tell Rhesus to cut an armful of roses--red ones. And
let the twins serve my brother. And--'
With suddenly widened eyes, she sighted Demetrius--tall, tanned,
serious, and handsome--entering the atrium. Dismissing the butler with a brief
nod, Lucia held her arm high and waved a welcome, her flowing sleeve baring a
shapely elbow. Decimus, keenly observant, scowled his displeasure and stalked
stiffly away.
Advancing with long strides, Demetrius came to a military halt before
her, bowed deferentially, and was slowly bringing up his spear-shaft to his
forehead in the conventional salute when Lucia stepped forward impulsively,
laying both hands on his bronzed arms.
'All thanks, good Demetrius,' she said, softly. 'You have brought
Marcellus home, well and strong as ever. Better than ever!'
'No thanks are due me for that,' he rejoined. 'The Tribune needed no one
to bring him home. He is fully master of himself now.' Demetrius raised his
eyes and regarded her with frank admiration. 'May I tell the Tribune's sister
how very--how very well she is looking?'
'Why not, if you think so?' Lucia, toying with her amber beads, gave him
a smile that was meant to be non-committal. 'There is no need to ask how you
are, Demetrius. Have you and the Tribune had some exciting experiences?' Her
eyes were wincingly exploring a long, new scar on his upper arm. He glanced
down at it with a droll grin. 'How did you get that awful cut?' she asked,
squeamishly.
'I met a Syrian,' said Demetrius. 'They are not a very polite people.'
'I hope you taught him some of the gentle manners of the Greeks,'
drawled Lucia. 'Tell me--did you kill him?'
'You can't kill a Syrian,' said Demetrius, lightly. 'They die only of
old age.'
Lucia's little shrug said they had had enough of this banter and her
face slowly sobered to a thoughtful frown.
'What has happened to my brother?' she asked. 'He seems in such
extraordinarily high spirits.'
'He may want to tell you--if you give him time.'
'You're different, too, Demetrius.'
'For the better, I hope,' he parried.
'Something has expanded you both,' declared Lucia. 'What is it? Has
Marcellus been elevated to a more responsible command?'
Demetrius nodded enthusiastically.
'Will his new assignment take him into danger?' she asked, suddenly
apprehensive.
'Oh, yes, indeed!' he answered, proudly.
'He doesn't appear to be worrying much about it. I never saw him so
happy. He has already turned the whole villa upside-down with his gaiety.'
'I know. I heard them.' Demetrius grinned.
'I hope it won't spoil them,' she said, with dignity. 'They aren't used
to taking such liberties; though perhaps it will not hurt--to have it
happen--this once.'
'Perhaps not,' said Demetrius, dryly. 'It may not hurt them--to be
really happy--this once.'
Lucia raised her brows.
'I am afraid you don't understand,' she remarked, coolly.
'I'm afraid I do,' he sighed. 'Had you forgotten that I too am a slave?'
'No.' She gave a little toss of her head. 'But I think
you
have.'
'I did not mean to be impudent,' he said, contritely. 'But what we are
talking about is very serious, you know; discipline, slavery, mastery, human
relations--and who has a right to tell others when they may be happy.'
Lucia searched his face with a frown.
'Well, I hope my brother's genial attitude towards our servants is not
going to make us lose our control of this house!' she snapped, indignantly.
'It need not,' said Demetrius. 'He believes in a little different kind
of control, that is all. It is much more effective, I think, than controlling
by sharp commands. More pleasant for everybody, and, besides, you get better
service.'
Marcellus was calling to her from the head of the stairs.
'I am sorry I spoke impatiently, Demetrius,' she said, as she moved
away. 'We are so glad you are home again.'
He met her level eyes and they smiled. He raised his spear-shaft to
salute. She pursed her lips, shook her head, and made a negligent gesture.
'Never mind the salute,' she said, 'for once.'
Marcipor, who had been lingering impatiently in the alcove, waiting for
this conversation to end, came forward as Lucia disappeared up the stairway. He
fell into step with Demetrius and they strolled out through the peristyle into
the moonlight.
'It is amazing--how he has recovered!' said Marcipor. 'What happened to
him?'
'I shall tell you fully when there is an opportunity; later tonight, if
possible. Marcellus has become an ardent believer. He toured through Galilee--'
'And you?' asked Marcipor. 'Were you not with him?'
'Only part of the time. I spent many weeks in Jerusalem. I have much to
tell you about that. Marcipor, the Galilean is alive!'
'Yes, we have heard that.'
'"We"? and who are "we"?' Demetrius took hold of
Marcipor's arm and drew him to a sudden halt.
'The Christians in Rome,' replied Marcipor, smiling at his friend's
astonishment.
'Has it then come to Rome--so soon?'
'Many months ago--brought by merchants from Antioch.'
'And how did you find out?'
'It was being whispered about in the markets. Decimus, who is forever
deriding the Greeks, was pleased to inform me that certain superstitious
traders from Antioch had brought the report of a Jewish carpenter who had risen
from the dead. Remembering what you had told me about this man, I was devoured
with curiosity to hear more of it.'
'And you found the men from Antioch?' encouraged Demetrius.
'The next day. They were quite free to talk, and their story sounded
convincing. They had had it from an eye-witness of many astounding
miracles--one Philip. Seeking to confirm it, several of them went to Jerusalem,
where they talked with other men who had seen this Jesus after his death--men
whose word they trusted. All that--added to what you had reported--gave me
cause to believe.'
'So you are a Christian!' Demetrius's eyes shone. 'You must tell the
Tribune. He will be delighted!'
Marcipor's face grew suddenly grave.
'Not yet, Demetrius. My course is not clear. Decimus made it his
business to inform the Senator of this new movement, describing it as a
revolution against lawful authority.'
'Has the Senator done anything about it?'
'Not that I know of, but is it not natural that his feeling toward the
Christians should be far from complacent? He associates all this with his son's
misfortunes. Now, if Marcellus is told that we have a large body of believers
here in Rome, he might impetuously throw himself into it. That would be
dangerous. The Christians are keeping under cover. Already the patrols are
beginning to make inquiries about their secret meetings. We must not cause a
breach between Marcellus and his father.'
'Very well, Marcipor,' agreed Demetrius. 'We will not tell the Tribune,
but he will find it out; you may be sure of that. And as for estrangement, it
is inevitable. Marcellus will not give up his belief, and it is quite unlikely
that the Senator could be persuaded of its truth. Old men do not readily change
their opinions. However, this new cause cannot wait, Marcipor, until all the
opinionated old men have approved of it. This story of Jesus is our only hope
that freedom and justice may come. And if it is to come, at all, it must begin
now!'
'I believe that,' said Marcipor, 'but still, I shouldn't like to see
Marcellus offend his father. The Senator is not going to live long.'
'There was just such a case reported to Jesus,' said Demetrius. 'I had
this from a Galilean who heard the conversation. A young man, very much
impressed that it was his duty to come out openly for this new way of life,
said to Jesus, "My father is an old man, sir, with old views. This new
religion is an offence to him. Let me first bury my father, and then I shall
come--and follow."'
'That sounds reasonable,' put in Marcipor, who was sixty-seven.
'Jesus didn't think so,' went on Demetrius. 'It was high time for a
drastic change in men's belief and behaviour. The new message couldn't wait for
the departure of old men with old views. Indeed, these old men were already
dead. Let them be buried by other dead ones.'